


The Mark of Sammy

by persephone_garnata



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort Food, Episode: s10e05 Fan Fiction, Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Mark of Cain, Samulet, Season/Series 10, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_garnata/pseuds/persephone_garnata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is worried because Dean won't talk about the Mark of Cain, or anything else for that matter. He tries a different form of communication: comfort food. It seems to be working, but then he discovers a mysterious bandage on Dean's left arm.</p><p>Inspired by the scene in 'The Things We Left Behind' where Sam brings Dean a grilled cheese sandwich while he's laughing at a Three Stooges video.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mark of Sammy

The Mark of Sammy

                Sam was worried about his brother. Nothing new there. Although Dean had the older-brother right to be the one who took care of things, the one who did the worrying, and boy did he exercise that right, Sam got worried too. He couldn’t help it.

                He wanted to talk about it, work out what they could do about the Mark of Cain. But Dean of course showed his usual desire to talk, ie he didn’t want to talk about anything. He’d much rather shove it down and let it come out in spurts of alcoholism and violence. He hung around the Bunker, sulky and withdrawn. When Sam tried to coax him out of his shell with physical affection – often the best way to get Dean to talk, lying in his arms in a sleepy post-orgasmic haze – he made love with desperate passion of a kind Sam hadn’t seen in years. Not since he’d sold his soul and they’d first started this crazy tangled-up whatever-it-was between them. And afterwards, Dean had clammed up even more, refused even a post-coital embrace. Then, earlier that day, he’d gone missing for several hours and just shrugged when Sam asked where he’d been.

                Clearly, nothing Sam did was going to work. Dean would just have to come to the discussion in his own time. The only thing Sam could do for now was try to look after him as best he could.

                The Winchesters were not a conventional family by any stretch of the imagination, but one thing they shared with most families was the conviction that love could be expressed by providing comfort food. From the last of the Lucky Charms when they were kids, to the burgers he’d made when they had first arrived in the Bunker and he’d started nesting, Dean had always been ready and willing to give Sam something to eat. Now, Sam took a turn in the kitchen. He considered trying to make pie but it seemed like too much time and effort, and besides they didn’t have the ingredients. Then he thought about making fries, but he couldn’t overcome his fear of the deep-fat fryer. So instead he settled on an old favorite, the grilled cheese sandwich.

                However Dean eventually responded, there was no doubt that making the sandwich felt kind of therapeutic. Cutting that plastic-y orange cheese Dean liked, putting it between slices of white bread: however unsophisticated his brother’s culinary tastes were, there was still something satisfying about putting all that love and care into making food for him, watching it brown under the grill. And, as it cooked, he heard a sound which had become unfamiliar: Dean laughing. If that wasn’t a good omen, Sam didn’t know what was.

                Soon, the sandwich was ready. Sam laid it on a plate and took it through to the library, where Dean was watching something on his laptop and laughing. Proper, joyful, head-thrown-back belly laughter. Sam couldn’t help smiling as he came in.

                ‘What are you laughing at?’ he asked.

                ‘Hey, hang on, you gotta see this, it’s a classic,’ Dean said, pausing playback on the black-and-white video.

                ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ said Sam.

                ‘Better than ever.’

Sam put the plate down in front of him and his eyes lit up.

                ‘Oh, hello beautiful,’ said Dean, picking up half of the sandwich and looking at the sticky strands of melted cheese with lustful reverence, pulling it further apart to admire the hot gooey goodness stretched out between the pieces of toasted bread. ‘Oh yeah, mmm.’

                ‘You want some alone time with that thing?’ asked Sam, pretending to be disgusted as stringy bits of cheese draped over Dean’s lips.

                ‘Mmm, mmm,’ mumbled Dean, and started the video again, laughing with his mouth full so Sam could see a mush of half-chewed sandwich between his teeth. Somehow, Dean still managed to look sexy like that. He always looked sexy, no matter how battered, bruised, dirty or even wearing lederhosen. Sam had long since resigned himself to that particular superpower of his brother’s. Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away from Dean to the video.  The Three Stooges, mucking around with some water pipes and getting thoroughly soaked in the process. The sort of crude slapstick which appealed to Dean but didn’t really tickle Sam, but what the hell? If Dean was laughing and smiling, enjoying the offering of love disguised as a grilled cheese sandwich, Sam was happy, and he started laughing too.

                Then he glanced over and saw the Mark of Cain on his brother’s arm, red and sore-looking against his pale skin.

                He looked away again quickly, but he couldn’t ignore it. Self-consciously, but without saying anything, his eyes still on the Stooges, Dean twitched to pull down his sleeve a bit and cover the Mark, disguising the movement as part of an attempt to stuff the whole sandwich in his mouth at once. But as he did so, Sam noticed something on his left arm, just poking out from beneath the dark green fabric of his shirt. It looked like a bandage.

                Instantly, his contentment disappeared, to be replaced by fresh worries: why the bandage? How had Dean injured himself? Why hadn’t he told Sam? How bad was the wound? Was it a cut, a bite, something else?

                ‘You all right, Sammy?’ said Dean, looking over at his brother. Although the question came out more like ‘Yomm ammigh ammy?’ as his cheeks were so full of cheese sandwich he looked like a hamster. The plate, Sam saw, was now empty of everything but a few crumbs. What a pig, he thought affectionately, before his mind came back to more immediate concerns.

                ‘Dean, what’s that on your arm?’

                Dean swallowed before answering. ‘Erm, Sammy, have you been hit on the head or something? I thought we’d been through this already.’

                ‘Not the Mark of Cain. Your other arm.’

                ‘There’s nothing on my other arm.’

                Sam didn’t try to argue with him. Instead, he lunged forward, grabbed Dean’s elbow, and yanked up the sleeve to reveal a bandaged patch on the inside of his forearm about the size of a playing card.

                ‘What's this, then?’

                Dean sighed, and tried to pull his arm away, but Sam held on to him. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing.’

                ‘It’s not nothing. What have you been doing? Where were you this morning? Have you been hunting alone? Has something hurt you? What’s under the bandage?’

                Dean looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and let out his breath. ‘All right then. I’ll tell you. But let go of me. And stop fussing over me like a mother hen.’

Reluctantly, Sam let go of his arm. Then he shut the laptop, cutting off the Stooges in mid-flow, which made Dean moan ‘Aw, come on!’

‘Tell me,’ said Sam, folding his arms across his chest.

‘Okay, okay. It’s… you remember those girls who put on a play about us?’

                ‘Er, yeah?’ Sam was totally wrong-footed by the change of subject.

                ‘You know Marie gave me that stupid wooden replica of the amulet?’

                ‘Yeah…?’

                ‘Well, I nearly didn’t take it from her. I told her I didn’t need it to remind me how I felt about you. But she insisted.’

                ‘Yeah.’ Sam couldn’t help smiling as he remembered how Dean had hung the crude prop from the rearview mirror of the Impala. It had felt like a little piece of home, returned to him.

                ‘And I…’ Dean swallowed again, although the sandwich had already disappeared as if it had never been. ‘Well, I… you’ll get a better view if you stand behind me.’

                Puzzled, Sam stood up and moved behind Dean’s chair.

                ‘Closer,’ said Dean, and Sam stepped up so he was touching the back of the chair, and leaned over a little. Then Dean picked at the edge of the bandage.

                ‘I shouldn’t be taking this off yet,’ he said, ‘but you want to see, so…’

                And he pulled the bandage away, revealing what lay beneath. Sam leaned in for a closer look, and what he saw made his heart skip a beat.

                It wasn’t a wound at all, not a cut nor a bite nor anything else. No – it was a tattoo, still red and raw, obviously fresh-inked. A tattoo of the amulet, the design carefully picked out, correct in every detail. Except one – as he leaned even closer in, his face alongside Dean’s, Sam saw that the tattooed version had an addition. Down one side, in tiny letters, was written a single word. A name. His name. Sammy.

                Sam realized he was holding his breath.

                ‘I thought,’ Dean said, his voice stuttering a little, ‘if I had a reminder of you, of how I feel about you, on the other arm, it would help…’

                His words petered out, but Sam didn’t care. He understood. He slid his hands down Dean’s arms, carefully pressed the bandage back in place, brushed the tattoo beneath it with one thumb and the Mark beneath Dean’s sleeve with the other thumb. He kissed Dean’s neck, feeling the pulse under his lips. And he whispered to him, his mouth right by his ear.

                ‘I love you too.’

                He felt his brother relax, leaning his head back to rest on Sam’s shoulder. Dean made a small wordless sound of happiness and kissed Sam on the jaw, the only part of him he could currently reach. He smelled like grilled cheese.

                Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, and knew they didn’t need to talk about anything.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first spn fic, hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, comments are very welcome (even if you didn't enjoy it!)


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